Barty Crouch Jr always felt it was narcissistic to say modeling was the obvious next step in his life. He had never been particularly successful in school, passing and doing but nothing ever seemed to grasp his interests. He could have been fully capable of doing the office job his father had expected him to end up in, But Barty could never imagine that life for himself. Not without it being forced.
Barty might have lacked the regular judgment of intelligence, but he had never fallen short in his ambition. He had ambition with close to no morals, making him unstoppable. So when he discovered that modeling was the correct fit for him. Barty became a model.
His new career also encouraged some of the less healthy aspects of his life. People had always wanted to see more representation of people whose ribs and collarbone stuck out a little more than it was supposed to. Or another person with dark purple eyebags to make their own seem less bad. People latched onto him quickly, as much as people latch onto random models with no plans to be anything more or anything less.
He was good at it too. He knew he was. People had never been shy about the knowledge that Barty was attractive, he grew up never doubting his looks. He was good at looking good for a quick flash of light. He could keep it up for longer than he should have been able to and each look god slightly more ambitious. Each look highlighted what should have been his worst qualities just slightly more.
But when his agent had asked him to be a muse. Barty had wanted to decline. There were many factors that seemed unfavorable. The main one was that Barty had to sit still. His usual work required him to hold a pose, but with change. The photographer would decide they had seen enough of one angle and instruct him into a new one. Barty had never been able to sit still.
“I am not giving a choice, Barty,” his agent sighed. Most would assume she hated him. Always tired of him. Barty didn’t blame her, but he also swore on his life to never make someone else’s life easier for them instead of being himself.
“Martha dear, you know I can’t take this job. The artist… What’s his name again?”
“Evan Rosier.”
“Right. Well, artist Rosier won’t be able to put up with me. Not like Pandora does.” Barty tried to reason, flashing his agent one of his best smiles. She stared at him, unamused was the nicest way someone could classify her look. She chose to ignore that he referred to one of the biggest name artists as “Artist Rosier.” It was something that she would save for later when she got a chance to scream into the space of her car or her pillow.
“Barty..” Martha smiled a sickly sweet smile. “It isn’t a good look for you if you only interact with one publication. The public… They might think you are having an affair with the photographer. We wouldn’t want that, would we.” Truth be told, It did not matter whether or not Barty had relations with someone else, though Martha loved to milk the “eligible bachelor” claims, no one would truly care if Barty saw someone. Martha knew Barty well enough to know he wasn’t aware of that. It was easy to change his mind.
“Pandora?” Barty laughed. “Oh, she would love to hear about that. Do people really believe we are together?”
“Barty.” Martha deadpanned once more.
“Fine, I’ll take the fucking job.” He relented. She knew he would.
Tomorrow Barty would be drawn by Evan Rosier and he could not dread it more.
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"Do you always move this much? Evan sighed, putting down his pencil to stare at Barty who was writhing uncomfortably on the floor where he was supposed to be posed.
"Does it always take this long?" Barty whined a rebuttal. He had tried for a while to stay still but he had been right. This form of modeling was not for him. He had been sitting still for what felt like hours, not in an uncomfortable pose per se, but Barty wasn’t made to sit still. And the artist. The artist. Evan Rosier was beautiful, it made Barty crazy he was so beautiful.
He was everything Barty wished he could be, with a sharp sculpted face and piercing eyes. He looked intense in all the most delicious ways. He looked healthy in all the ways Barty was not. In all the ways Barty wasn’t allowed to be. He had perfect dark skin and eyes that showed his sleep. And his weight, Evan’s weight was healthy, he was not muscular, or even toned, he hadn’t worked to be skinny, nor had he worked to be a bodybuilder. Evan looked healthy.
Evan Rosier should have been the one modeling Barty thoughts. He was the beautiful one. He was the one Barty found alluring, and Barty had always found himself alluring.
"We've barely been here an hour?" Evan raised an eyebrow at him, trying to mask his amusement. He had been warned that Barty would be difficult to work with, but they had failed to mention how funny that is to watch. Maybe that makes Evan a bad person, but he couldn’t help but want to kick Barty while he was down.
“It would be easier to sit here.” Barty breathed. “If you didn’t look so intense.” He said. That caught Evan’s attention.
“Intense?” He questioned, he asked for an elaboration like the works hadn’t affected him, like he didn’t feel Barty’s complaint to his core. Barty straightened out, staring at Evan with a hardly noticeable, newfound determination. He might not have been able to tell his immediate effect on Evan, but Evan would eventually cave. They all did.
No one could say no to Barty.
"I don’t know how people can stand it." Barty's eyes flickered to Evan, where he wasn't supposed to be looking. He'd been doing it anyways, convincing himself that Evan hadn't noticed. Evan had. "Sitting here. Letting you look through me like you can see everything.”
Evan subconsciously tilted his head, looking straight at the snake on Barty’s torso wondering if that was a secret waiting to be told, or if Barty put his secrets on display for anyone smart enough to read them.
“You look at me,” Barty licked his lips. “Like you know me, know who I am, know my secrets. You look like you can read my thoughts.” Despite the way they spoke to each other, neither had actually moved from their work. Barty stayed in the position he was told to be in, the only privacy given from Evan’s eyes was his own hand and Evan continued to draw, hoping that maybe if he put enough time into each stroke, the public would be able to see Barty’s secrets too. “You look at me like you already have my heart.”
Evan wished he could go back in time to truly capture Barty’s flushed face on his canvas. He wondered if people would like Barty more if they saw him this vulnerable. They had only ever seemed to go bat-shit for his susceptibility.
“Do you want me to have it?” Evan asked, seeming as unaffected as he started, simply focused on his work.
“I don’t know,” Barty told him. He was focused on Evan’s eyes, wondering what it meant to see what Evan saw. He wondered if he was any more beautiful if he was looked at through the eyes of someone so perfect.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” Evan asked, the answer was obvious, Barty had done nothing but worked himself into a tizzy over Evan’s looks alone.
“Do you want me to seduce you?” Barty returned, and Evan wanted to tell him “yes.” Yes, he wanted Barty to seduce him. Yes, he wanted more of this. Yes, he wasn’t sure if he could ever get enough. Yes, Evan was going to die if he didn’t learn the answer to Barty’s secrets.
“I’m not sure, Mr. Crouch. But, would you mind shifting slightly to the left? I’m trying to get the lighting on your balls right.” He opted to say instead, he opted to keep his secrets his. Evan wasn’t made for the public eye, but the understanding that his words could affect Barty this much meant more than the public could ever.
What Evan had said, was a horrible mix of strictly professional and pushing every boundary, Barty had thought of how his response could have gone over, he had wanted to know if Evan wanted him, the way he obviously wanted Evan. He was not prepared.
“I’d also move your hands off your face.” Evan teased him, as Barty’s hands flew up to hide his embarrassment. “Unless you want me to draw that too.”
“Just get on with it,” Barty groaned. his hands back in the correct place.
“Whatever you want, Mr. Crouch.” Evan could go crazy with the power he had.
“And don’t call me that.” But he could also do exactly what Barty wanted from him. He hadn’t decided which option was more fun.
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“You can move now,” Evan said softly. He and Barty had allowed their conversation to settle into a comfortable silence, other than the occasional complaints from Barty that Evan was convinced were just part of who he was. Barty hadn’t actually seemed upset to be sitting where he was, Evan assumed he just enjoyed complaining.
“That’s it?” Barty asked, instinctively moving his shoulders to work out the tightness in his back. He was quick to jump off the floor, rushing over to where Evan was sitting without permission.
“For the most part,” Evan nodded. “I still need to finish the rendering. Would you like to see?” He snorted to himself as Barty’s eyes were already fixed on the art before him, showing no amount of patience as his eyes took in the hour's worth of work. “Well?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Is that what I look like?” If this painting was what Barty truly looked like, he thought he could go mad from the euphoria. He stared at the portrait in front of him, trying to take in who he is and what he looked like through Evan’s eyes because he was so much more alluring when he was seen through rose-colored glasses.
“I did draw you,” Evan commented with a mocking ring to his speech. In truth Evan was waiting anxiously, he had taken a different approach with his painting, focusing more on Barty beauty than his flaws. He focused on every aspect of Barty that people should have been. It was a different light than Barty was used to seeing himself in, and far more beautiful.
Barty wondered if this is how Dorian Gray felt. He wondered if this painting of himself was enough to take over his every sense. If it was enough to start a craze over his beauty. Barty wondered if he shut him and Evan in and never listened to a voice from the outside if they could be Dorian and Basil, without the craze. He wondered if Evan would worship him, and devote his life to Barty.
“I know that,” Barty laughed, it was quiet and breathy, far from his usual laugh. It sounded stuck in his throat like there was something blocking him from allowing Evan to hear everything he needed him to know. “But this,” Barty waved his hands frantically, “is not how people see me.” His eyes finally flicked back up to Evan, who had been staring at him with an equal admiration as he had given the painting. “This isn’t how people see me… This isn’t what I look like in the photographs, or in the mirror. This isn’t me.”
“I didn’t draw you to look like someone else,” Evan told him. “I drew how I see you.”
“I want to look like this,” Barty told him. Evan wanted to cut in, he wanted to say ‘you do. You always have.’ But Evan did not, he stood still and swallowed harshly, thankful that Barty was too caught up in his own reflection to notice. “I want to be this person.” Barty continued, swallowing harshly in the same way Evan had been. “I want to be the me that you see.”
“You are,” Evan said, he did not hesitate for a second. “You are, Barty. People have just been looking through the wrong lens.”
There was silence for a moment. That silence dragged on, they were stuck in it and stunned by it. Barty and Evan had always been people with a lot to say, but they were stuck in silence together.
“Would like to go to dinner?” Barty broke their silence, quicker than it could become part of them, quicker than they could learn to find refuge within it. “With me?”
“Yes,” Evan said, without hesitation once again. He wondered if it was wrong to devote his life to Barty. Evan did not think it was.